Free The Billionaire's Nanny: A BWWM Romantic Comedy by Mia Caldwell Page B

Connie looks at me uncertainly–lord knows Mr. Pierce has never offered to clean up before–but I nod in agreement.
    “It’s mostly disposable,” I say. She hands Vanessa the baby monitor and heads to her room.
    “Thanks for bringing in dinner,” I say, piling the waste into the plastic bags the food came in. Vanessa was wrong about getting too much. I was hungry .
    “I’m glad to do it,” she says, smiling into my eyes. “I wanted a chance to just hang out and talk with you. And Connie, of course.”
    Of course.
    “Do you need to rush off? We could sit out by the pool for a bit. The breeze is almost pleasant tonight.”
    Vanessa chuckles. “Well, since I just sleep upstairs now, I don’t think I have to go far. But as long as Maeve is snoozing, I’m free to hang out. Say, isn’t this place a winery? What’s a gal gotta do to get a glass of wine, take the tour?”
    I could think of several things she could do, none involving tourism, but kept them to myself. “Red or white?”
    “My winemaker buddies in town say you’re growing Cabernet Franc, do you have any of that?”
    “No, that’s years out, I’m afraid. I do have Cabernet or Merlot, though those are our only reds.”
    She chuckled again, that sexy sound. “Guess I’ll come clean, I don’t know anything about wine. I worked in a cocktail bar and I tend to drink beer myself. So just get me something that’s not too complicated. Something witty, yet approachable.”
    I waggle my eyebrows at her. “That’s my favorite combination,” I say, and am rewarded by seeing the color darken on her cheeks. The dimple flashes into view for just a moment as she smiles at the floor.
    When I hand her the glass, half full of a dark red Zinfandel I’ve been told is delicious, she says, “Won’t you join me?”
    “I’ll join you in conversation, but I don’t drink anymore.” That “anymore” usually shuts down any pressure to drink.
    But Vanessa just laughs. “Well, you’re in a funny job then, aren’t you?”
    “Indeed I am,” I say and lead her out the back door to the gazebo near the pool.
    It’s a perfect mid-summer night. The breeze is soft, like it had come in off the water. The nearly full moon reflects off the water of the pool.
    “I’d never been in a salt water pool before,” says Vanessa, as she settles onto the lounge. I had hoped she sit on the wicker couch, so that I could sit beside her. Instead I sit in a chair that lets me see her face, lit by the moonlight–and all those lights around the pool.
    “That was my sister’s idea. When she heard I’d be coming out here with Maeve, she insisted that we get it refitted for salt so that I wasn’t, as she put it, ‘dipping the baby in bleach every day.’”
    “Hadn’t thought of it that way, but she has a point. I do like it better, it doesn’t dry my skin out the way the city pool did when I was a kid. So, do you just have the one sister?”
    Ah yes, the “how many siblings” conversation.
    “I have three older sisters. I’m the baby and the only boy.”
    She smiles at me. “I bet you were spoiled rotten.”
    “Probably. I imagine my sisters would tell you so. How about you? Siblings?”
    “Nope, I’m an only child. My parents died in a car accident when I was eight. My grandma raised me.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry for your loss. But I’ll have to compliment your grandma some day.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I see it might have been too much. There’s a flicker in her eyes. I remember that she’s not in my head, where I’ve already been taking her to India, showing her Cape Cod…as far as she knows, I’m just Maeve’s dad that isn’t around much. I add, quickly, "She clearly raised you with care since you became a good teacher and a good nanny."
    Vanessa’s smile is warm, if I freaked her out, I think it passed. I hope. She says, “She did. It’s hard to be so far away from her, but we talk a lot. She used to babysit, run a daycare, kind of, when my